SuperWolf
by itsbrittanyann
Summary: Beacon Hills has always served as a beacon in the darkness for the supernatural, so when a rash of mysterious animal attacks comes to light, a pair of brothers steps in to investigate. What impact will their presence have, and what will become of the residents? [M for possible lemons!]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: I'd like to take a moment out to thank two very special people with whom I could not have created such an incredible story with. So thank you, Mel and Julie from the bottom of my heart for helping me with this story.

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**In Beacon Hills.. [[Allison POV]]**

There's a feeling I can't shake. One in which I believe my family is hiding something from me. It started with the hushed tones; the whispers no one wanted me to hear. And much to my confusion, I couldn't (and still can't) hear what they're talking about.

Both of my parents seem unusually concerned about the rise in animal attacks Beacon Hills has seen in the past few months. My Aunt Kate, on the other hand, seems to think this is all some great big hunting opportunity. Her words, not mine. Weird. But then again she always has been an outspoken, outdoors enthusiast. She and my father have never seen eye to eye for as long as I can remember which always led to fits of screaming and arguments between the two. Though I still don't know what was so bad about her views. The only thing I _do _know; the only thing I'm _allowed_ to know is that I now have a curfew.

"No going out after dark," my dad says.

I can't even begin to count the number of times I attempted to argue that with him. Even Aunt Kate jumped in at one point, making a heated situation boil over. She leapt in with how I "need to learn how to defend" myself. I've never seen my dad so distraught. Needless to say that was a conversation I never bothered to delve into again. I did, however, catch a snippet of my dad's conversation with Aunt Kate the other night in his study while I was on my way to the kitchen to grab a late night snack. He was speaking so low that I could only catch the part where he needed to call someone in to "deal with this". I didn't get to hear much else apart from that due to my father's ungodly ability to know when I'm creeping around. Today, however, starts a new day, which means back to school for yet another _wonderful_ day of learning. But better yet, it's another day of seeing my friends. And what a welcomed distraction that will be for the thoughts that plague my mind.

* * *

**Meanwhile, miles away.. [[Dean POV]]**

The cold air crawls across the damp earth in a blunt rush, sweeping through and slicing into me like a rusty old blade. I wake with a jolt, the unforgiving chill knocking the air from my frozen lungs as I struggle to breathe. My head's spinnin' and I have no idea how long I've been here, strewn across the sodden earth as I attempt to grasp my bearings. Another brutal confrontation with Sam had led me here, but typical pride had gotten in the way, and we'd separated durin' the fray. Last thing I needed was this, but I'd let him go for now, only to let _it_ go, later. We'd spoken briefly since but it's never nearly enough, and now I'm here, layin' in my own damn blood without a soul around to call. The wound ain't deep, and lingering here will only get me killed; I'm left with no choice but to peel the soaked leather from my marred flesh and struggle to a stand. Wincin' all the while as I swipe a weathered palm across my brow and make the journey back to the impala before I run into further trouble; I'd have to accept things for the way they are now. With a muted grumble my gaze tapers, fathomless eyes flitting across the dark space while I pull the blade from its hiding place, where it'd been safely tucked away until I'd been sliced with my own goddamn weapon.

"I'm about to gank a bitch."

Fishin' the keys from my pocket as a form of distraction, I turn my attention to my car and get to work, keeping a sharp ear out for the fuckin' fan club that'd cornered me moments ago. Soon enough the loss of blood leads to scorching veins, and a throat as dry as a desert. My patience is worn thin, and it doesn't take long for them to return. They're practically rabid, but I figure they've got no intention 'a killin' me just yet. They need somethin', at least. Information, dirt, you name it. But I don't have time to play dance with a fuckin' demon right now, and with a sudden clench of a tense jaw and a clash of teeth I'm pivoting, and tearin' their throats in two, a disturbin' glint flashing across my cold exterior as I watch the light fade from the first's eyes, to be followed by the other a split second later.

"Thanks for the souvenir, sweetheart."

All it takes is a kick to a limp frame to make me feel better, and there's a sick satisfaction there even as I bleed out, slick sickness seepin' from the gash written across my abdomen while I set about huntin' down that bottle 'a jack I just about knocked back the night before. It's nothin' but stitchin' up for tonight and onto the next one, a dirty old motel and some busty asian beauties to keep me company; until I worked up to callin' my brother, to bring him back home.

* * *

**Back in Beacon Hills.. [[Allison POV]]**

I've been avoiding Scott all day, though more for my dad's sake rather than my own. Poor kid. He's trying, I'll give him that, but this is for his safety; his benefit. I only wish he'd realize that. He still comes around at night, though I can't see him. It's a feeling rather than a sight. I can feel when he's near, like a static charge that fills the air. It's both thrilling and exacerbating at the same time. I wish he'd go away. It would make all of this so much easier. Thankfully most of the day went off without a hitch. But there was one incident just before lunch. I'd ducked out of class just as the bell rang to avoid the mad rush of my classmates that would no doubt stampede out into the halls. My locker, located across the hall from my economics class, was void of any and all students, leaving me a clear path to beeline for the small metal door. It was when I opened it, however, that I received my surprise. Sitting on the bottom row of my locker's shelving unit was a slender vase which held a beautiful crimson rose. A folded business card was placed in front of the gift, Scott's familiar chicken scratch scrawled across the blank section of the card. "Because I love you," it read. A message that used to fill me with joy no longer brings a smile to my face.

"Stop making this so hard," I'd whispered, well aware that he could hear me.

That was the last contact we'd had for the remainder of the day. I sigh, my warm breath fanning across the window of the bus, causing it to fog. With the day's events replaying in my head like a broken record on loop I'd nearly missed my stop.

"Miss Argent!"

The driver's booming voice cuts through my thoughts and causes surprise to surge through my veins, making me jump in my seat. I watch as her brows rise expectantly.

"Are you going to get off, or will you be accompanying me to the bus garage?"

A smile forms, and I shake my head as I stand.

"N-no. Sorry. I, uh.. Erm, nevermind."

Shouldering my backpack, I hastily make my exit, thankful to be back home. I stride down the paved path that leads to the front door and let myself in, calling out for my parents.

"Hello? You guys here?!"

Silence fills the room soon after, and I shrug. I turn the corner in order to head into the kitchen, nearly colliding with my father. A shrill shriek escapes me, but I'm quick to recover while I bring a hand to my chest and exhale a loud breath.

"Go upstairs and get ready. We're having company over and they'll be here any minute."

His voice is calm and collected, clearly unaffected by our run in. My brows furrow with my skeptical look, but I nod my head slowly in compliance while I turn to do as instructed. Could these be the people he mentioned just a day ago to Aunt Kate?


	2. Chapter 2A: Stiles

**[[Stiles POV]]**

The idea of "pop quizzes" always preoccupied me. Though, strangely enough, this one was all about the homework I'd busted my head open completing exactly last Monday. Even then, as I thought of the answers I realized I was nervous. Maybe a little too nervous than what a little fifteen question quiz should make me. So much that I found myself flinching when the tip of my pencil broke. I nearly sighed in frustration, but I remembered the pencil that was so nearly tucked away on the side of my backpack. It seemed being too lazy to put a pencil back in its place on the desk at home had actually paid off. As I reached for that other pencil I allowed my eyes to wonder. They looked around and the class full of concentrating people, some nearly as frustrated as I'd been, and some, like Lydia that didn't even seem to be thinking twice about the answers. Of course Lydia was naturally smart, so I wasn't surprised. My head automatically whipped to the front of the classroom when out if the corner of my eye I could swear I saw something black move on the top of the wall. When I looked, though, nothing was there. I sighed and went back to my quiz with my brand new pencil. Now my nerves were so high that I was starting to see things. Way to go, Stiles, way to go.

The last question in the stupid quiz was finally answered, and I nearly sighed in relief and sat back on my chair in triumph; and I was just about to do that when out of the corner of my eye I saw the same strangely dark moving thing on the upper side of the front wall. Yet once again, like the previous time when I fully looked the way where I could have sworn the black thing was... There was nothing. My eyes fell onto my completed test and a light frown crossed my forehead as I got closer to the paper; the words "It's your turn to suffer" were printed on the paper as if it were one of the questions; and I say back quick when I finished reading it.

"What the," I whispered as I looked around the room; wondering if anyone had the same thing in their own test.

Please, I knew it was completely stupid and impossible; no one, not Scott, Isaac or even Lydia were reacting badly at the test. So I brought my eyes back to the paper on my desk. The letters were bigger this time; bolder. "IT'S YOUR TURN, STILES."

"Whoa!"

I flinched back so much on my chair that I didn't even realize I'd managed to make it to the very edge of the seat and ended up falling in a flailing mess toward the floor. What the actual hell was happening around here lately?! The words that had been printed on the test were now completely printed inside my mind; yet when I saw the test from where I sat on the floor, the words I'd seen previously were simply gone. The test looks as normal as any other. So what? I was crazy now?

My eyes shifted from once side of the room to the other; amused expressions adorned every single face that looked my way, and I had to force myself to grin sheepishly as the embarrassment is simply overclouded by the confusion. The voice of the unamused teacher reached my ears as if from a faraway tunnel, but my eyes quickly move to look at him as I manage to stand up in a wildly quick move.

"What," I ask, as I wasn't really able to hear the teacher's words.

"I asked if this was your strange way of telling me you were done with your test, Mr. Stilinski."

My eyes blink a couple of times before they finally glance toward my filled paper. They narrow as if trying to find any of the words I'd seen before; but there was nothing but the lame history questions.

"Uh.. No. I mean, yes."

The teacher's eyes pierced me completely and soon I realized what I'd admitted to.

"No! God, no that's not what I meant. I mean, yes, I finished my test, but... That's not why I fell."

I couldn't understand what was going on with me at this moment. Not one bit. Without so much as another word, I dash out of the classroom and into the safety of the hallway.

It isn't long after my retreat to the hallway that I'm confronted (or more like bulldozed into) by Lydia, who rounds the corner a little too hastily. My arms automatically wrap around her when she seems as if she were about to fall after so completely slamming against me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

But no words were able to leave my lips before she regained her composure and asked me so sternly the same question I'd been asking myself for the whole past week and a half. My eyes search her features and I feel my head automatically shaking.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a _horrible_ liar. What was that, in there," she asks.

My eyes move to follow Lydia's motions toward the classroom and I feel my head fall limp for a few seconds while I let out a long sigh. Maybe it was wrong of me, but I didn't want her to think I was crazy. I mean, not more than usual. I finally looked up directly at her eyes and shook my head, allowing my shoulders to lift and fall on a shrugging motion.

"I don't know. I either need to sleep more and stress less or I'm losing my head by the second."

Yet another exasperated sigh left my lips while I watch her eyes narrow in disbelief before she changes her tune.

"Fine. _But_, don't think your crazy antics are getting you out of the trip to the mall."

My eyes widen only slightly for less than a second as soon as Lydia's arm is around mine and I couldn't help the small lift of the corner of my lips as she seemed to so easily shake my crazy-theory thoughts away from my mind with one simple sentence. My head shook away the strange bizarreness thoughts away and lifted a brow.

"Trying to get away from helping my girlfriend carry around her bags? Why in the world would I try to get away from that?"

A smile crossed my lips as my eyes traveled to her once again.

"You wouldn't."

And just like that it was as if nothing at all had happened. With her arm firmly hooked around mine, we began our walk out of the halls of Beacon High and towards the Jeep that awaited a short travel to the mall.


	3. Chapter 2B: Lydia

**[[Lydia POV]]**

What is normal? By society's definition, it's the conformity of one's behavior to that of the majority of the population. Stiles has never been normal by definition. For as long as I can remember, Stiles has always been the odd man out with his uncanny ability (or lack thereof) to focus on the task at hand for a whole five seconds. Any longer than that and I swear you can see the smoke billowing out from his ears due to his brain working on overdrive. People often wonder why I'm so drawn to him.

"What does she see in him," they whisper. "She must be hard up since Jackson left her."

Rumors are a dangerous thing, aren't they? While it's true I was a blubbering mess at first, Stiles, in all his stuttering and goofy glory, wound up showing me that I never deserved the treatment I received from Jackson.

"Behind the act that is your cluelessness lies someone who is incredibly smart and beautiful."

That's what he taught me. Stiles is the only one of my peers who's ever recognized my talent when it comes to mathematics, or that my hair's actually a shade of strawberry blonde...not red. It's people like that; people like Stiles that I pay close attention to. So when he reacted abnormally during our pop quiz in Global History, I was quick to catch it. My mother always told me to listen to my gut.

"Never question it," she said.

I wish I would have listened to her in this very moment..

A loud clatter from a few seats away was enough to pull everyone's attention away from the test, though none of us even had to look to know that it was Stiles. Laughter can be heard from all around the room; a normal response from those used to Stiles' antics. I, on the other hand, know differently. This isn't Stiles' usual attempt at distracting him (and everyone else in class) from an exam. No, this is something much more concerning. What that "thing" is, however, I don't know.

It isn't long after Stiles leaves the class that I finish up my exam and rush up to hand it in. Thrusting out my arm, I urge our teacher to take the stapled papers from me. Frustrated by the amount of time he seems to be taking, I slam the papers down onto his desk and rush out of the classroom in hopes of catching up with Stiles. I barely make it out of the room when I turn the corner and hit right into him, the collision forming an audible smack from tangled limbs and skin meeting skin. Regaining my balance, I fix my appearance before giving Stiles the evil eye.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

My tone is clipped and hushed as I lean in, waiting for an answer from him.

"What do you mean," he says with that deer-in-a-headlights look he so often wears.

Stiles' response receives a "don't give me that" look from myself, both brows shooting skyward in disbelief.

"You're a _horrible_ liar. What was that, in there?"

I watch as Stiles seems to search for some sort of answer within that cluttered mind of his. After a moment or two, his head falls forward in defeat, and a sigh soon follows.

"I don't know. I either need to sleep more and stress less or I'm losing my head by the second."

My eyes narrow briefly, unconvinced of Stiles' reasoning behind his bizarre behavior in class. Without another mention of the quiz, I hook an arm through his and tug him down along the hallway.

"Fine. _But_, don't think your crazy antics are getting you out of the trip to the mall."

A perfectly sculpted brow arches, waiting for any objection that Stiles may make, ready to shoot it down.

"Trying to get away from helping my girlfriend carry around her bags? Why in the world would I try to get away from that?"

Both shoulders roll into the quickest of shrugs, a thoughtful look overcoming me the instant Stiles finishes his smart remark.

"You wouldn't."

A satisfied smile forms as I tug Stiles along through the halls of Beacon Hills High, the last bell of the day sounding to alert us that school is out for the day. I don't even bother to stop and put away my books. I'm far too eager for this shopping trip. In fact, it's been _days_ since my last trip to the mall, and let's face it, that's just unacceptable. Pushing open one of the front doors, I walk alongside Stiles to the spot in which his Jeep is parked.


	4. Chapter 3

**[[Dean POV]]**

It's late at night when I get the call from Argent, and by then my whiskey-tinged breath is intermixing with a slur of words, coated in momentary contentment until he explains what's been happening around his area lately. California hasn't been in my sights for a while now, but if Argent's desperate enough to call, then he's in need of help, no doubt.

I call Sam the moment I wake to update him, and luckily for me he jumps at the chance, determined to help out an old family friend, and try to repay him for all the good he did after our Dad died; needless to say I'm a little relieved by his agreement, regardless of Argent's plight.

Once we make arrangements I'm throwing everything into a weathered duffel bag and saying goodbye to the latest motel after a night of heavy drinking; the persistent ache in my head isn't necessarily helpful, or at all, and I cram my belongings into the back seat without a second glance. Slipping behind the wheel and turning the key in the ignition before I turn _down_ the volume for once, and kiss Metallica goodbye while I retrieve a pair of shades I had stashed away - I'm more than fuckin' prepared for a mornin' like this, considerin' Jack and I are good friends when everything turns to shit. By the time I pull out of the parking lot I'm already craving greasy diner food and an endless supply of coffee, figuring I'll make it across state and onto the next in record time to scoop up my motherfucking moose of a a brother, and make it to California just before nightfall.

Sam and I didn't need to take a beat to contemplate this at all. A job's a job, but given our history with Chris and what was left of his family, we'd gladly oblige and end that cycle of misery any way we we could. He was an experienced hunter, but I guess called it quits in a lot 'a ways once his family took off. He'd taught us a lot at the beginning, but no doubt we'd caught up easily and passed him for miles after years on the job. From what I'd gathered during my my drunken haze, he'd been worried; panicked even. He'd mentioned something about numerous covers, and how they'd been right under his nose; he'd left his guard slip, had allowed his family to distract him from all that crept around the little town, day and night. He'd been worried for his daughter; her name's blurred and I can barely remember her, but he'd mentioned Allison was right in the center of all this mayhem, surrounded by the rabid dogs who'd stolen countless lives. She is blissfully unaware, and I still haven't decided whether that's a blessing or a curse.


End file.
